Not In Vain
by Roquelaure
Summary: They should hate each other. Where she's soft-hearted, he's irreverent. Where she's careful, he's reckless. Where she follows her morals, he trusts only in money. They really should hate each other – but here's the catch – they don't. An original take on Jake's Campaign. JakeXSherry
1. Prologue: Breath

A/N: *Crosses fingers* Okay, so this is my first fanfiction on here. I hope you guys like it! This whole thing, while not entirely written yet, is a novelization of Jake's Campaign from Resident Evil 6. I have several unique twists and turns and a few of my own, original events to help make the whole thing more cohesive, interesting and fun to read. Quite a bit more romance too! If Sherry seems a little bit darker in her internal dialogue throughout the story than in the game's narrative, that is intentional. Everything will make sense later, I promise. Also! If you haven't played Resident Evil 6 yet, there will be Spoilers!

I don't own Resident Evil 6, the franchise or any of its characters. It all belongs to Capcom, and no financial gain is being made from this work.

Edit (October 20th): The prologue has now been edited and beta-read by Riot Siren.

* * *

Nervous didn't even begin to cover it.

Her hands shook. She chewed on her bottom lip. Her toes wiggled in erratic rhythms inside her shoes. She wanted to make herself a cup of coffee, something to hold onto, to sip and stir, to give herself something to do. But she didn't trust her legs not to buckle if she stood to make herself one.

_Why does he need me_? Sherry thought to herself, her mind racing at a thousand miles an hour. This was bad. It _had_ to be bad.

Derek C. Simmons would never ask her to come to his office this early on a Saturday if it wasn't earth-shatteringly important.

He didn't even like dealing with her when they'd both had their rest, much less when they were both exhausted.

As if to reinforce her point, Sherry stared pointedly at the clock and 4 AM gleamed back at her, the red light glowing sinisterly, almost as if it were happy she'd been awake for a solid 30 hours, working at the last refugee camp, then the plane ride when she'd been called in. Sleep seemed like some sort of distant memory, but Sherry's mind refused to be bogged down.

Either she was in deep shit, or she was actually _needed_ for something. Neither thought was particularly comforting. She heard the click of the door knob being rotated but kept her eyes forward when Director Simmons walked in.

"Agent Birkin."

Sherry deflated at the flatness of his tone. She had been hoping he'd at least be a little glad to see her.

_Some things never change, even after 10 years_.

"Director Simmons." She nodded her head in polite courtesy. It felt wrong in some way to be so rigidly formal with the man who had been her legal guardian for so long. While Sherry held no illusions that he was some great caretaker, or that he had ever taken the place of her father, she could remember a time long ago when they'd been fond of each other. And yet, even as his ward, she had still been a prisoner.

Sherry shook her head to dispel the memories of her sterile, hospitalized imprisonment.

When Simmons had placed himself in his chair, a smile came to his face. "Sherry, excuse my language, but you look like _hell_."

Sherry's heart fluttered softly.

_Maybe there's a chance to salvage this yet_?

"I haven't slept in what feels like days, sir. And I've been living off of coffee, candy bars, and second-hand cigarette smoke."

"'_Sir_'…" He shook his head. "Don't be so formal, Sherry. We're off the clock."

Sherry tried to relax, she really did, but something didn't sit right. The way Simmons twisted the signet ring around his finger; it was easy to recall from her youth that he only did that when trying to decide on something of great import.

"Am I being reassigned? Because that is very much what this feels like, Derek."

"Yes, yes you are. You're being deployed, actually."

Sherry's eyes widened and her head shot up to stare hard at Simmons—her new, direct supervisor, apparently.

"I'm not a field agent," she said. As if it was going to make a difference.

"You have the training, and the..._abilities_ to carry out the assignment. The only reason you weren't already a field agent is because we needed you elsewhere. But the time has come, Sherry. Your first, real assignment." Simmons' eyes were hard when they poured into Sherry's and she knew there was no way out of this.

_And once again, my instincts are right on the dot_.

"But the relief effort…" She started to say, but he held up his hand, interrupting.

"Will go on just fine without you. They aren't even using your gift."

"Please don't call it that."

Simmons raised an eyebrow. "Then what would you have me call it?"

"'Ability' works fine," Sherry told him. "It's not a gift to me, but I'm also not ashamed of who I am. I…understand why I may be preferred to others for a mission."

Suddenly, it was like she was a teenager again. Sherry involuntarily shuddered at the memory. But she wasn't a victim now, and if this was what was needed, she'd do it. And if her ability helped her in that, then all the better.

"You can be such a frigid little girl, you know that?"

"Not really. Only you manage to bring that out in me, sir." He smiled at this, and Sherry remembered when she was young that the only thing she'd been more afraid of than his frown was his smile.

A flash of her father's massive, amorphous body attacking the train whirled through her mind, but Sherry pushed it away, like she had been doing with a lot of things recently. She already had enough problems to fuel her nightmares; she didn't need to start reliving the old ones.

Without another word, Simmons tossed a folder onto the polished mahogany of his desk. "There's your mission. You're headed for Edonia. The plane leaves tonight at 11. The agency will pay for the ticket."

"Sir, will I be headed into combat?" Any hint of acknowledgement between child and guardian was washed away, but so was Sherry's nervousness. At least she now knew what was coming her way, and she was far too tired to keeping sitting here, beating around the bush.

"It's possible."

_Which means 'probable'._

Picking up the file with a nod, she quickly began to leaf through it, just to get a gist of what she was in for. She'd never done field work; the relief efforts for bio-terrorism attacks had needed her more than anything else.

A picture slid out from between two pages when she flipped by them and the first thing Sherry noticed was the scar. A long, slightly diagonal cut that reached from just under his left eye down to his chin. It had been a deep wound, and caused by something with a wide blade, maybe even a machete. Her finger gently brushed over the grainy photograph.

"His name is Jake Muller," Simmons said. "He's a mercenary, but he isn't a private operator. He's currently in the employ of the Edonian Liberation Army. The E.L.A. is currently in the middle of a bloody civil war. It's a post-Soviet state and destabilizing elements within—"

Sherry's voice sliced in. "I know what's happening in Eastern Europe; I _do_ watch the news, sir. Why do you want him?"

"He possesses antibodies."

"To…?"

"To the C-virus, Sherry. If we can get a hold of this man, we'll finally have a viable solution to Neo-Umbrella's activities."

Sherry's exhale was long and slow and her eyes dropped back down to the photo. "You mean…a _vaccine_? That would be—that _would_ be amazing. But what aren't you telling me? There's no way antibodies to the C-virus just pop up thanks to natural selection."

A bitter smile came to Simmons mouth. Sherry had always been more perceptive than what was good for her…

"He's Albert Wesker's son," he said.

"That's one hell of a catch!" Sherry exclaimed, horrified by the ramifications. Albert Wesker had been her father's research partner and a complete psychopath—an incredibly dangerous and powerful one at that—and now she was supposed to find his heir.

"He doesn't know who his father is—_was_, I mean," Simmons began. "Our intel on that is secure. Young Mr. Muller also doesn't seem to have his father's mental instability, or his means. He's clean by what we can tell, or at least as clean as a mercenary can be. We know where he'll be. It's all been planned by our intelligence boys, so don't worry about the coordinates. You just need to go in, extract him, and get him to agree to giving us a few vials of blood. Once you have him, radio in for the rendezvous."

Simmons watched with narrowed eyes as Sherry looked over the dossier in the file, matching his words to what the papers told her.

"I'll be there." She knew she had no choice. The mere hope for a C virus vaccine took away any excuse she might've come up with. Besides, Sherry was a perfectionist in everything, and she'd be perfect in this.

_I can pull this off. I can actually do this_.

Without so much as a goodbye, she stood and made for the door.

"Sherry…"

If she felt she could let herself cry, she might've at the unexpected tenderness in Simmons voice. The memories of when she was a grieving child struck with survivor's guilt came crashing back. He had that same voice when he had been kind, when he had let Claire come to visit her, when he had helped talk her through her traumas.

And then everything changed.

"Yes, sir?" She turned ever so slightly.

She could've sworn that he wanted to say something else, something meaningful, to say something that might patch up the gaping abyss that had separated them for so many years.

"Get some sleep," Simmons said.

"With all due respect, sir, I'd rather be awake just now." She closed the door behind her.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so the prologue's off the ground! I hope I managed to hook you guys. Also, as a side-note, I'm always looking for more music to write too and if you have any song recommendations for JakeXSherry, I'd love to hear them.


	2. Chapter I: Aerials

A/N: You guys are awesome! All the reviews, and favorites and follows! It was an amazing thing to hear from all of you, and even if you didn't do any of those things, thank you so much for reading my work at all! Also, to those who gave me song suggestions; whether through a review or a PM, you rock!

I'd like to thank Riot Siren for agreeing to become my beta! She whips my grammar, spelling and half-formed ideas into shape! Praise her!

* * *

(2:16 PM, December 24th, 2012. Edonia.)

"Muller!"

Jake looked up when he heard his name called. His eyelids felt heavy and his knuckles ached from cracking them too much. The mindless chatter of his "comrades" was like a drill to his skull, each and every single one of them, babbling on about these goddamn energy boosters. Jake's eyes found the sleek Asian woman, standing next to boxes, busy with all her paperwork.

She looked so out of place, dressed in a pretty blue dress with short, styled hair and expensive shoes and earrings. Jake figured the woman had to be wearing at _least_ two grand in designer clothing.

The lieutenant shouted his name again.

"Just shut the fuck _up_," he muttered, resting his head back on his knees.

"What was that, Muller?"

Rolling his shoulders, he pulled himself to his feet, grunting when his muscles protested painfully.

"Nothin' sir!" Jake hated the deference he had to give this asshole. He was paid to kill the opposition, not take orders from a fucking idiot.

The entire company had been waiting around for what seemed like forever, and despite how the B.S.A.A. had already appeared and taken the field against the B.O.W.s the insurgents were using, his platoon was still stuck here, rotting in this ruin.

His superior jerked his head in the general direction of the Asian woman and her masked friends.

She didn't look up at him at first; too busy with a sheaf of paperwork. Jake cleared his throat audibly to get her attention and when she finally did turn around, she stopped suddenly, her eyes locking with Jake's.

A tingle went up his spine when Jake looked back at her. He had instincts, good ones, ones that were acute enough to have kept him alive as long as they had. And every instinct he had was screaming that this woman was dangerous.

Dangerous, predatory and not…_normal_.

Her steady gaze travelled from his eyes down to the scar on his cheek, and while Jake had never been self-conscious in any sense of the word, he felt as if the woman _knew_ something.

"Well, aren't you _unique_?" A sardonic smile graced her lips.

"We can't all be as pretty as you, lady," Jake shot back. Without even a note of registering what he had said, the woman unpackaged a syringe from one of her boxes and handed it to him.

"Inject that directly into a vein, if you would. Wrist, thigh and neck are the preferred places of injection. Effects should be nearly immediate if you do it right. Please make sure to be sanitary. Alcohol wipes are over there." Plucking the syringe from her outstretched hand, Jake turned wordlessly and made to enter a nearby building when something caught his eye.

An abandoned food cart lay tipped over in an alley. Someone had ditched it before the platoon got here, and while it looked ransacked and picked clean by the birds, Jake's growling stomach made him close in on it anyway.

Rolling it upright, Jake spotted it, sitting in there in all its glory; an apple. An _actual _apple! Covered by the corpse of the food-cart, the birds had been unable to get to it and while it looked a little worse for wear; it was edible.

"I'll be damned." Jake picked up his prize; quite possibly, the last apple in the damn town.

* * *

(10:27 AM, December 24th, 2012. Edonia.)

_America to Edonia, economy direct. If it's not a human rights violation, it damn well should be!_

Sherry ached in places she didn't even know she had, and she was pretty sure she smelled like a wrestler's armpit. But she'd made it and that was all that mattered.

The agency had promised payment after the completion of her objective, but thankfully, being an agent also had its perks. Sherry doubted she'd ever get tired of hearing Simmons say: 'We'll handle your rent while you're gone.' Not mention, she'd be given full-access to all of the D.S.O's various contacts and channels to procure her equipment. While she didn't exactly know much about guns, she knew she liked the one she got. She also knew she liked the phrase: 'Not even on the market, yet.'

While the D.S.O. had been able to pull enough strings to get her a ride into the town where Jake Muller's platoon was supposedly hunkered down, Sherry knew she'd mostly be on her own for this. It was up to her to successfully infiltrate the mercenary's makeshift compound, find the target, get him to agree to become a guinea pig for a government that didn't actually have any jurisdiction over him and then to get them both out—all while maintaining a degree of professionalism and not dying.

_I can do this, I can do this, I can do this, I can do this_. Sherry repeated the mantra in her head while showing her government identification to her ride. He was an older man, and while it seemed he could read English, he spoke very little. The truck was a rusted monstrosity that looked like it could go toe to toe with an aircraft carrier and win. But Sherry had to admit, it had character and it would be the perfect Trojan Horse.

Now she only had to survive the ride up the mountain...

* * *

(2:32 December 24th, 2012. Edonia.)

It _stung_. Jake inhaled sharply when he felt the "energy supplement" enter his bloodstream. He could feel it moving through his veins, burning. It wasn't an agonizing burn, it wasn't like acid in his blood, but he was sure he wouldn't want another one of these injections.

_And some of these fuckers are shooting this shit in their legs_? The very thought of _that_ kind of pain caused a shudder to run through him.

And then it was gone.

The burn, the sting, the feeling of whatever he had just injected himself with moving through his body—just…gone. Another soldier stumbled into the room with an audible grunt.

"This shit doing anything for you yet? I don't feel a thing." Jake uttered, throwing the apple up in the air before catching it. He spared a glance at the man.

_Well, well. Didn't think you had it you, Mitch._

Jake had faced B.O.W.s before, and while he didn't relish the thought of having to put down a man he had fought with, he also didn't give much a fuck. His muscles once again protested when he got to his feet. Not in pain, but in _anticipation_.

* * *

She knew him by the scar.

As Sherry ran into the room, she watched for only a moment as the man she had been searching for pinned a humanoid B.O.W. to the wall with a particularly skilled kick.

_Good, he can fight_. Sherry was grateful for this development. The B.O.W.s she had seen on the way in didn't exactly instill confidence that she could pull this off without having to get her hands dirty.

"Have you already taken your dose?" While her target didn't seem particularly surprised at her arrival, he did seem ill at ease when the body of his comrade suddenly burned itself to ash from the inside out.

"Uhh, yeah. If you want one, you gotta get it downstairs, sweetheart. But – uhh," Jake pointed at the quickly disintegrating remains, "Might be a bit hazardous to your health." As if to punctuate his words, the roar of gunfire suddenly roared in the distance.

Sherry wasn't listening however; her eyes were trained on her watch, counting the beats. When she passed 30 seconds, she knew without a doubt that Simmons' information had been correct.

"Yep, it's you! You've got the antibodies!"

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"I'll explain on the way," The stones beneath their feet shuddered with a shockwave, and the sound of an explosion sang in the air.

"You might be the key to saving the world, Jake Muller. Now, we _have_ to get going, I promise I'll tell you everyth—" Sherry was cut off by howling war-cries as three B.O.W.s swarmed into the room, machetes and automatic rifles at the ready.

She reacted almost without thinking. Grabbing Jake by the sleeve of his jacket, she forced him behind her. Raising her gun, Sherry fired. A spray of bullets erupted from the muzzle of her pistol; the recoil she thought she had perfectly memorized shot through her arm. Her bullets struck their targets as the force of gun pulverized the muscles of her arm.

And then it was over, and all Sherry could hear was the ringing in her head and the screams of the men she had just gunned down.

At Jake's appreciative whistle, she glanced at him.

"Not bad." His light chuckle died when the bodies began to burn up from within, just like his other fallen comrade.

She stared horrified at him. "I just…_killed_…three people and you say _'not bad'_?"

"Welcome to war, princess. And B.O.W.s aren't people."

"But they used to be." Her eyes were glued to the smoldering remains. Her hands shook and Jake noticed how hard she gripped her gun.

"Hey." He reached out, gently touching her shoulder. The contact shocked her out of whatever it was she was feeling and her attention shifted to him.

Jake lowered his voice before speaking again. "We need to get moving, alright?"

At her nod, he left her side, flung open the garbage chute and jumped down it.

Sherry settled the conflict inside her, realizing that if she was going to complete her objective, she'd have to make peace with what she'd just done—and all the things she'd undoubtedly _have_ to do. Without another thought to the dead men, she slid down the chute after Jake.

* * *

A/N: I hope you guys liked it! The next chapter should be up within a few days, and I'll always take any song suggestions.


	3. Chapter II: Hurricane

A/N: Many thanks to everyone who followed, favorited and reviewed this story. It means so much to me.

Beta-Read by the amazing Riot Siren.

* * *

She couldn't get the blood off.

No matter how hard Sherry scrubbed at the stain with the old towel she'd found, she couldn't get the blood off. Her hands shook, and her breath was coming in gasps that were too quick to be healthy. Her mind was racing, and she wanted to piss, puke and scream her heart out, but…she didn't. She attempted to keep what minimal composure she still possessed. She just kept scrubbing, trying to catch her breath and exerting more air in her effort than she was taking in.

She had never understood exactly what was so horrible about war. After what had happened to her as a child, she always thought that war would've been a vacation by comparison.

Sherry shook her head, strands of blonde hair falling into her eyes. She kept scrubbing.

Her ears were still ringing with the explosion that had knocked that helicopter out of the sky. She could still hear and see the B.S.A.A. soldiers, screaming for their lives as they went down in a fiery blaze. Her heart raced, and her vision was blurry.

_I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here._

The house, the _shack_, they sat in was abandoned, had probably been abandoned for years. It was too quiet. The silence seemed to press in on Sherry, and despite how much she hated the unbearable sound of war outside, she loved it like a sister compared to the silence.

Jake sat nearby, and even though she felt like death, she thanked God he was still alive. The click of more rounds being slid into his spare magazines wasn't nearly enough sound for Sherry, but she was grateful for it anyway. She had to wonder what was going through his head, though. He hadn't even looked at her since they'd entered the shack.

"What did you say those..._things_ were called?" The volume of his voice was suddenly so thunderously loud that Sherry's whole body seemed to clamp down. Her arms tucked in, her head flinched down, her hands clenched into the tightest and most painful fists she'd ever made.

"Ja…J'av…" She took a shaky breath. "_J'avo_."

Jake finally looked over at her, and Sherry saw his eyes visibly widen when they met hers. He moved far too fast in front of her, and she instinctively pulled away, her eyes on her gun before remembering who he was.

She registered him taking her hands, the warmth of his fingers on hers, but she didn't truly feel it. Her mind was moving in a cold, clinical rotation. She wasn't feeling anything at all.

"Look at me. Sherry, look at me." She forced her eyes to meet his. "You're going to be okay," he said.

She shook her head furiously, and all at once, the hot tears came. Unbridled hatred possessed Sherry, but it wasn't hatred directed at anything other than herself. She was supposed to _his_ protector. She had a job to do. She was supposed to be skilled and quick and sure and perfect, not breaking down in a god-forsaken shack.

"You've never been in war, have you?" His voice was soft, and despite everything else rushing through her head, Sherry thought it was the strangest sound. She'd never have imagined he could have such a soothing voice.

She brought her eyes back to his. _They're so much brighter than mine._

A bitter laugh bubbled up through her throat. "Is it that obvious?"

"A bit, yeah."

"I'm sorry. I'm…I'm holding us up. We need to move." She made to get up, but strong hands found her shoulders. Normally, she would've fought to her feet if she had to, but her lack of fortitude made such a feat impossible.

"We can afford a small break, I promise." It was at that moment that Sherry noticed a small amount of blood oozing down his pant leg, right below the knee.

"You were shot!" She exclaimed, worry for her mission suddenly throwing her into gear.

"I was _grazed_. I'm fine."

"Let me see!"

"No."

"_Jake_! Let me see it."

They locked eyes once more. Tension seemed to bubble in the air as their immense wills bared down on each other. For a moment, Sherry thought that she could almost see Wesker's influence in his son's eyes. The same eyes that could crush another person to dust if he willed it. Red and blue...

_I shouldn't think like that. He could be a very different person._

Jake finally lifted his pant-leg. Sherry wasn't foolish enough to believe that she truly won that, _whatever_ that was, but she still took pride in her small victory.

_Won the battle, still fighting the war._ The symmetry of her careless thought wasn't lost on her.

The graze was minimal; short but deep. What worried Sherry however, was that the gash was continuously weeping a rivulet of blood. Reaching into a pouch of her belt, Sherry pulled out a Band-Aid.

"No fucking way."

"You need to keep it covered so you don't keep bleeding, and with your pant-leg down, no one will see it," she insisted.

"It's _pink_."

"It's Hello Kitty, which is awesome _and_ it has Neosporin on the pad, so shut up and hold still." Sherry had to fight a smile while she smoothed the bandage over the wound, and her patient's overly dramatic sigh didn't make it any easier.

"Y'know, in all my time as a mercenary, I've never been given an actual _Band-Aid_ for an injury. I've cauterized wounds with hot submachine gun muzzles, and I've stitched gashes together with inch-long sewing needles and floss." Jake's voice was incredulous.

Sherry chuckled a bit, pulling out two more of the little pink bandages, "Well, I like to be prepared for anything. And I have an actual needle and stitching thread if you get banged up any more."

"What? Not in case _you_ do?"

Sherry pursed her lips, running her thumb over the last bandage, smoothing the edge down. "I…make sure to avoid getting hit."

_Could that have sounded any more evasive?_

Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "And what, I don't?"

"Clearly not." She gestured to the now bandaged wound.

A few seconds of silence passed, and once she'd pulled his pant-leg back down over his knee, she looked up at Jake. A small smirk played on his lips.

"What?" she asked.

"Feel better?"

It was true, Sherry did feel better. Her hands stopped shaking, her vision had cleared, and the silence followed by speech didn't cause her ears to ring.

"I…yeah. How'd you…?"

He waved a hand dismissively, "My mom used to get panic attacks too. Not like _that_, but...still. I can read the signs."

"Well...thanks."

Jake shrugged. "I didn't do a thing. That was all you."

Sherry smirked, chewing on that for a moment. It was true, all Jake had done was tell her she was okay, and beyond that, her own "mother hen" complex had kicked in.

_Well, that's embarrassing. Fuck PTSD treatments. Just give me a cut-up merc and a Band-Aid and I'm good to go._

Dusting her knees off, Sherry stood, holstering her gun. They weren't anywhere near extracted yet and she had already wasted more than enough time for the both of them.

"We need to keep moving before more J'avo show up."

"Yeah, about that," Jake said. "I charge $200,000 up front. Another $200,000 at the end and B.O.W's are extra. A grand extra. Each."

"I'm not here to hire you, Jake." Surprise registered on his face, and his self-satisfied smirk turned south.

"Then what are you here for?"

"Your blood." Sherry always hated being laughed at, and she especially hated it when it came from handsome mercenaries with whom she'd just shared her limited supply of Band-Aids.

"What? For the Red Cross or something?"

"_Yep_! That must be it. I flew half-way around the world and into a war zone because I need blood for the Red Cross. I have orange juice and cookies back in my hotel room too," she snapped, voice sharp as a knife. "Remember the antibodies I mentioned earlier? Your blood is the key ingredient to a vaccine against a very dangerous mutagen-based virus called the C-Virus. That's the same virus that infected your platoon and which you just took a syringe full of."

_Well, that got his attention._

The realization seemed to dawn on Jake. Sherry pretended not to notice the small whirl of fear that passed through his eyes while he clutched at his neck.

"You mean...this isn't an isolated incident?"

Shaking her head, she answered him, "No, it's not. Right now, we are racing against a global bio-terrorism attack and we've needed a vaccine for months. At this point in the game, Jake, you are currently the most valuable person on the planet."

She wasn't expecting the spark of avarice that lit up his features. He walked a few steps away from her, and Sherry knew that she'd hate whatever it was he said next.

"50 million."

"_Are you out of your mind?!"_

"If you don't want it, tell me now and I'll go to the first country that does."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. _50 million dollars_? The very idea of such a large sum being charged for a _theoretical_ cure was baffling to Sherry and yet…she knew she shouldn't have been surprised. She also knew that Simmons would've expected something like this.

"I…_personally_, can't promise that. But…let me talk to my boss. I'll see what I can do. That doesn't matter right now, though. We still need to get out of this place alive. Do you know a way out of here?"

The greed that filled his eyes sickened her, but Sherry kept her composure. She was an agent and she would be perfect. His asking price wasn't her concern; it was making sure he was alive enough to _have_ an asking price.

The mercenary turned to look out the shack's only window, his hand scratching at his chin. "Maybe. We can't leave through the main loading docks where my platoon entered. The B.O.W's will be swarming all over that place like fuckin' locusts. But through the canyon, there's a small warehouse. We'll have to go through the compound's old workers' quarters to get there, but the warehouse empties out into the town proper. You think you could radio in from there?"

At Sherry's nod of approval, they both cocked their guns and headed back outside and back into the hands of war.

* * *

_She's getting better._

Jake could see it in the way that she moved, the way that she clutched her gun with a finger always less than an inch away from the trigger. She'd started out rocky, not a stranger to death exactly, but it was plainly obvious to the mercenary that she'd never been in _this_ sort of situation before.

Sherry had better aim than him. He hated to admit it, hated how he felt shown-up every time she pulled the trigger, but it was true. He could fight, he _knew_ he could, but his aim would never be on her level. Jake wondered if it was her training or just natural talent. He had a feeling it was more than just a bit of both. That was one of the things that confused him. She had _extensive_ training. He could see it in the way Sherry carried herself, the way she seemed ready to throw herself in the way of a bullet to complete her objective and yet, she was still so _green_.

And that was the other thing that he'd noticed. Jake had dealt with—hell, he'd killed American agents before—but they'd always had standard-issue weaponry. Well-made, of course. A bullet from an American gun did the job as well as a bullet from anything else. But _her_ gun...

It was a prototype Beretta machine pistol, good fire power, accurate and expensive as _fuck_. Jake knew because he wanted one, tried to buy one under his channels a few years ago when he'd first heard about them.

_Maybe she's lying. Maybe she's with some sort of black ops division?_

Jake knew that to be false before he'd even completed the thought. If she were working with something as covert as a black ops division, she'd have seen combat like this before. And if he was as valuable as Sherry said he was, no covert division would send someone so new to the game to find him.

The thought that her panic attack was an act to get him to trust her had crossed Jake's mind, but he dismissed it. No, he'd seen her eyes; he saw the shaking hands. It was an exact replica of what he'd seen his mother go through countless times. It was the real deal.

He felt the bandages just below his knee pull sharply at his leg hair.

_And who the fuck uses Band-Aids in a situation like this?_

The more he thought about her, the more she seemed like an enigma, and Jake _hated_ being in the dark. She had expensive, potentially illegal prototype weaponry, panic attacks during the carnage of battle, and she thought Hello-Kitty was top-notch entertainment.

But still, her nerves were improving. He could see it. She was learning the ropes of war.

"How're you holding up?" Sherry's voice was light and airy, and Jake would be lying if he said he didn't like it. It wasn't the sort of sound he was used to hearing. It was exotic almost; her voice held a certain innocence to it. It _fit_ her.

"All right. You?" he replied.

She gave him a nod of affirmation while a shiver visibly rocked through her. Jake had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. This was Edonia, _and_ in the middle of winter, no less. Surely she'd known where she was headed before buying such a thin coat. And yet, Jake felt a pang of sympathy. It was clear that she didn't ask for this. This was just a mission she was ordered on. But the notion that she was somehow the best person for the job was lost on him. _Who'd ever send her?_

While lost in his thoughts, Jake ended up walking straight into Sherry, jostling them both.

"Watch—" His complaint died on his lips when he saw that she had barely even felt his touch. Her eyes were wide and stared horrified out over the valley, to the bridge and town.

_Now, that's a war zone._

"Guess the B.S.A.A. encountered those J'avo." He whistled, almost entertained by the sight. Thick, black pillars of dense smoke rose from the ruins. Fires burned, bright enough to see even from here. The sound of war was a low, threatening rumble that spread over the whole area. It was fucking chaos and Jake had to admit, it looked like the B.S.A.A. were giving as good as they got.

Her voice was only a hair above a whisper. "And we have to go _in there_?" It took Jake a moment to realize that the slight shaking in her unusually smooth voice wasn't some vocal quirk. It was _fear_, visceral and brutal fear.

"We'll be fine," he lied before pointing towards the bridge. "B.S.A.A.? Not so much. Last I remember, my employers had a tank parked on the other side of that barricade. If the B.O.W.s have appropriated it, those sons of bitches are done for."

"You don't know that!" Sherry shot back, the acid in her voice surprising Jake. "They're more resilient than you know. If anyone can pull through that," she gestured out towards the town, "It's them."

"Fair enough, but we need to keep mov—" Jake was cut off by a machete gleaming in the sunlight, swinging for both their necks. Slinging his arm out, Jake pushed Sherry back while bending back as far as his spine would allow. The blade passed mere inches from his face.

_But you swung too wide, you fuck._

Kicking the hand holding the weapon, Jake caught the twirling machete straight from the air, driving the blade into the chest of the J'avo. Its multiple eyes widened at the prospect of its death, and it screamed foreign profanities at Jake. Forcing the creature back, he let go of the blade, sending the creature to the ground. Jake stepped clear of the mess, ready to grab Sherry and make a run for it.

And then the monster's chest simply exploded.

The machete was forced out as bone-like growths erupted from the wound like some sort of vile animal. Snaking over the blotched and bloody chest of the person it used to be, the mutations coated the flesh of the creature, turning hard like stone.

They both watched with wide eyes as the J'avo screamed as if this was the most brutal torture ever inflicted—and for all Jake knew, it could've been. On shaking knees, the thing pushed itself to its feet, brandishing the discarded machete against him. It new armor glistened with blood, pus and ichor.

The J'avo rushed him, quicker than Jake could react. He tried to go for his gun, but the holster's straps got in the way. The horror of dying on a blade was the last thing that snapped through Jake's mind before the creature's head broke apart in a spray of blood, bone and brains.

It was only after he felt the droplets of gray matter strike his face that he registered the gunshot.

He hadn't been prepared for that.

He hadn't been prepared and had nearly paid with his life, and _she_ saved him. _She'd_ seen past the horror of whatever the fuck just happened. _She'd_ pulled her gun and acted when he stood frozen. _She'd_ done her fucking job and he'd stood there, shocked into paralysis.

The irony was nearly too much.

Sherry's hands were shaking again and Jake could hear her breath quickening again, rushing in and out of her lungs and he knew that if she kept that up, there was every chance she'd hyperventilate and pass out.

He turned to her. "You okay?"

Sherry nodded, moving her head in quick, spastic jerks. "Fine, I'll be fine. Just…give me a sec."

Jake watched as, though by will alone, she managed to return her breathing to normal and her hands slowly stopped their wild vibrating.

"What. The _fuck_. Was that!?" he demanded.

"Mutagen-based virus, remember?" Sherry said. "A J'avo will mutate when exposed to non-lethal stimuli."

"Which _means_?"

"If you wound them but fail to kill them on the first try, they'll mutate in a way that makes them even harder to kill."

"Well, fuck _that_!" Jake turned back to the disintegrating body, as Sherry moved to his side. Flames erupted from the remains of the corpse, as if its blood had caught fire. Despite how macabre it was, both Jake and Sherry were grateful for the heat.

* * *

A/N: The song this chapter is titled after is Hurricane by 30 Seconds to Mars. The symmetry between the writing and the lyrics is just too perfect. And remember, I love music suggestions. My writing playlist is becoming filled with so many great songs from you guys!


	4. Chapter III: Revolution

A/N: Many, many thanks to everyone who's reviewed, favorited and followed this story. This chapter's a bit shorter, but it's also a very important chapter and probably one of my favorites so far. The next will be longer though, I promise.

Beta-read by Riot Siren.

* * *

9:00 PM, December 20th, 2012

Lanshiang, China

"Good news, Dr. Ra – _Wong_. We're ahead of schedule," the researcher told her, sounding a bit hesitant. She didn't blame him, though; she always looked out-of-place in her surroundings.

Ada wore a wispy, Grecian-style dress, the blue fabric swirling around her bare feet as she entered the lab. The place was cold, clinical and impossibly white. It was as if she were the only source of color in the whole world. She took the clipboard the scientist handed her, but didn't spare a glance at the data. She already knew what she'd see.

"How far ahead of schedule?" Ada asked.

"He's conscious. He can likely hear you."

A perfectly manicured eyebrow arched only slightly to show her interest. Filled with artificial amniotic fluid, as similar to a womb as she'd ever have, she watched her child's eyes recognize her for who she was. Warmth spread through her veins as her heart finally let loose a little of its clenched pain. He was _alive_ and he _knew_ her. The thrill of motherhood sunk its teeth into her and Ada smiled at the fruit of her labor.

The misshapen eyes watched her hand as she laid it against the cool glass. "He's beautiful, Dr. Kellor," she whispered. The blonde-haired man was at her side in an instant, a restrained energy bouncing within him.

"How's the new arm coming?" she added.

"Perfectly, Dr. Wong. It'll be ready by deployment. Several of the detachable prosthetics have already been completed."

_It seems unreal, too have come so far in so little time. My sweet, sweet child…_

Ada had always thought she would've been a good mother. She'd always wanted a baby, a little life to look up to her.

_Mother is God in the eyes of her child._

Yes, Ada had always wanted to be that, too. She'd always wanted to be a god. And in a way, now she was. Her eyes watched the mutated muscles beneath the skin of her newborn ripple and tense, watched as her child rotated his head sluggishly.

Yes, she was the new God.

"What else do we know? I need more details, Benjamin." There were so many questions twisting over themselves in her mind, trying to be the first to claw its way up.

"It was a literal stroke of genius, Ca - _Ada_," Kellor said, catching himself at the last moment and coming to stand next to her.

"Why are you stuttering, Benjamin?"

"My apologies, ma'am; I'm just excited is all."

They each knew it wouldn't last, but titles could be put aside in the face of their success, their child.  
"Combining the G and C viruses _and_ in such a manner; truly brilliant, doctor. He's perfect. His cells reproduce faster than we can even see under a microscope. And, as per your specifications, he's not pathognomonic in any way, shape or form. The viruses will not show up in his cells if he's wounded or if blood tests are performed. He's sterile, essentially. However, as a side effect, he is also incapable of spreading the viruses, unlike typical bio-organic weapons."

"That's good. We wouldn't want it to be communicable. That's asking for an apocalypse we can't control." The possibility sent a shiver down Ada's spine. Even the HAOS project wouldn't be able to keep up with that level of annihilation. _We may as well not even bother at that point._

Her steely eyes found his weaker, chocolate brown ones and she was positive there was something else. "What aren't you telling me, Dr. Kellor?"

"I…Dr. Wong…" Benjamin's eyes widened in panic as Carla turned the full brunt of her gaze on him, "It's not something we can fix!" he insisted.

"_What's wrong with him_?!" she shouted. Fear made her heart spasm. He wouldn't die would he? He _couldn't_! The very thought threatened her eyes with tears, to make her into a mother weeping for the child that never had a chance to draw his first breath.

_I will not allow it_, Ada vowed to herself.

"His heart," Benjamin admitted weakly.

Confusion swept across her face. She _knew_ something like this would happen if she left her child in the hands of this imbecile. She fucking knew it.

"What's wrong with his heart, Dr. Kellor? And I promise you, you're going to want to be very clear with me on _where the hell you fucked up_!"

Ada's voice echoed in the room. Kellor shrank back, then knowing he had no choice, answered her.

"His heart rejected the C-virus. I'm not altogether sure what happened, Dr. Wong. The organ accepted the G-virus, or at least part of it. The C-virus however, was unable to mutate the G- virus. His heart doesn't heal the same way the rest of him does. It is, essentially, the chink in the armor. His one weakness. His—"

Benjamin wasn't expecting the razor-sharp slap. The stinging pain was enough to take him off his feet and send him tumbling to the floor, but she hoped the loss of dignity was even more painful.

"You incompetent _failure_!" Carla accused, her voice hard and harsh and loud. There was sound of limbs thrashing in liquid, and Carla quickly returned to the tank, her voice suddenly calm, caring and collected. "My poor baby. Shhhh. It's alright. He's just a fool that makes me sick. Don't worry." Her words soothed the abomination, now fully awake and agitated in his glass prison.

"Send me all the data you have on his cardiovascular injections," she said, calmer now. "I will fix this myself."

Kellor pulled himself up off the floor and sighed. "Dr. Wong, with all due respect, you _can't_."

Her skirts flared at she wheeled on him, her eyes filled with fire and hate. "And why is _that_?"

"Because we've already tried. I had the entire team in here for nearly two days straight, rerunning every possible genetic sequence to figure out where we went wrong. It's not us, Dr. Wong. It's _Mother Nature_. The heart rejected the virus, there's nothing else we can do. But it's not even a real weakness. The rest of him regenerates so fast that his heart is in no danger of ever being damaged."

Carla turned away from him, looking back at her now imperfect creation.

"There is…one _other_ thing, Dr. Wong."

"Of course there is." Ada felt tired all of a sudden, and realized she sounded it.

"The heart rejected the C-virus," Kellor said. "The C-virus didn't reject it." The implications of such a statement widened her eyes when she turned to look back at her colleague, now standing farther away than usual.

"You don't mean…"

"I do. The C-virus is constantly pushing to finish the mutation. And as we know, mutation is…_incredibly_ painful."

Ada finished his thought, wiping the stray tears that came to her eyes. "Once he's removed from the tank, he'll be in constant pain. But the pain will make him strong. He'll be better because of it. If he's filled with rage, if he's filled with hate from the pain, he'll be so much _more_." She didn't know if she said it for her baby's benefit, or for hers.

Forcing any remnants of feelings from her face, Ada turned to Benjamin. "Have the last arm finished as quickly as possible. He gets deployed in four days."

"Yes ma'am. But, have you thought of what to name him? The man he was isn't…_there_ anymore. He needs a new name."

Ada smiled darkly and stared up at the beautiful face of her child. "We'll call him _Ustanak_."

* * *

Benjamin said nothing as he watched Ada leave. It was a strange to see such emotion on her artificial features. He had never felt such revulsion as he did when he looked upon her face to find her sadness pouring out of her eyes in salty rivers.

_How disgusting_.

His face still stung and his rage was boiling. How _dare_ she, when _he'd_ done everything to make this a reality? He'd handled the tests, he'd cleaned up all the messes, he sat with that _thing_ for nights on end, telling himself that it was all worthwhile, that Carla knew what she was doing.

That everything would be _okay_.

He glared at the glass tube, knowing that nothing would ever again be okay once this monster was unleashed. Benjamin would become a bio-terrorist, a criminal of the worst kind to much of the world. He'd be reviled, hated and chased across the planet for daring to become involved in the darker aspects of science.

Kellor shook his head, sitting himself down in a nearby chair with his head in his hands, the very picture of a man with the weight of the world on his back. He had been reviled before, he'd been hated before. That was nothing new. But the chance of losing his freedom?

He was reminded of when Carla stole him from Simmons all those years ago. Of what Simmons had ordered him to do what he did to that poor, Birkin girl.

Benjamin shook his head to dispel the memory.

Carla had saved him from Simmons' treachery, but "Dr. Ada Wong" wasn't exactly a stranger to it herself. Oh yes, he knew the truth about Carla. He'd been there when she came out of that chrysalis. Still, he had seen no better plan at the time, no safer place. She'd kept him out of prison, only to hand him this project. It was as sure a prison sentence as what he'd done in the bowels of that building to the Birkin girl.

Kellor stood up, went to the tank's control console and set the tank to purge. If the creature was being deployed, it was time he learned to walk, after all.

He walked towards the glass tank, crinkling his nose as the warped features of his project.

"Do you know what she called you? Do you know your name is Ustanak?" Benjamin asked, watching the creature's lumbering head form a crude nod of acknowledgement. "It means 'revolution.' Couldn't be more fitting, could it?" Benjamin said, staring down at his own weathered hands. "You're going to change the _world_." The pale green fluid swirled at the Ustanak's movements. His hand reached out, as if he were reaching for his salvation.

Benjamin never thought he'd feel his heart break in such a way. The hopelessness of such a small gesture struck him hot and vicious like a lightning bolt. This thing was as much a prisoner as he was.

_His cage is just less gilded than mine_.

"You are _not_ hers." He fought to keep his voice from shaking as the sirens blared, and the fluid began to bubble and quake as it drained. The whir of the pumps caused every other sound to evaporate.

"You are _mine_, more so than you will ever know."

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A/N: I hope you guys are still liking the story, and like always, I can always use more music suggestions. I'd also really love to hear if you guys have any theories about what's going on from what you learned in this chapter.


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